


Christmas Eve at the Plaza

by jonius_belonius (Joni_Beloni)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joni_Beloni/pseuds/jonius_belonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected meeting on Christmas Eve leads to ... things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Eve at the Plaza

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naias](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=naias).



> A little Christmas smutlet thank you gift for naias. Sorry, dear, no returns or exchanges, haha.
> 
> Takes place some unspecified time before S4, with no Rachel in the picture.

The last person Harvey expected to walk into the bar at the Plaza on Christmas Eve was Mike Ross.

A confusing procession of emotions tumbled through him when he caught sight of the shaggy hair and slender figure. Surprise. A quick lift of happy excitement, followed immediately by annoyance. Couldn't he have these few hours to himself, without being harassed with questions and opinions about work?

As it did every year, the firm had closed at noon on Christmas Eve. And as he did every year, Harvey left as soon after that as he could manage, to come here for a quiet drink, alone with his thoughts and his Macallan 18.

He slouched lower into the booth, hoping that Mike wouldn't spot him. What was Mike doing here anyway? He should be at home, or out with friends, enjoying some rare time off.   If he was on the hunt for Harvey, he was doing a poor job of it, not even scanning the far corners of the room. Instead, he went straight for the bar and settled in on a stool, chatting with Leo, the bartender, like they were long lost brothers.

Was he meeting another person here? Harvey observed him covertly for perhaps ten minutes, during which Mike never once glanced at the entrance, as he would do if looking for an expected someone to join him. From Harvey's vantage point, he had a view of Mike's back, and a sliver of the side of his face. His hand and arm lowered and raised with almost clocklike regularity, every thirty seconds or so, slowly downing the clear liquid over ice in his glass.

Vodka tonic, Harvey recalled. That was Mike's drink of choice when Harvey didn't insist he join him for the sacred scotch. In between sips, Mike's head came up, and he seemed to be focused on the showy garland outlining the shelves of bottles behind the bar. It appeared to be fresh greenery -- some type of fir, or pine, or whatever -- which had been artfully sprinkled with tiny sparkling white and red lights, and hung with what were either antique blown glass ornaments, or excellent replicas. Since it was the Plaza, they were likely actual antiques.

Because he'd been watching so closely, he saw Mike's back move up and down, as if he'd let out a heavy sigh. He tipped his glass up, finishing off his drink, and set some money on the bar top, giving Leo a wave as he slid off his stool and turned to go.

There was no reason for Harvey to make his presence known. Mike was looking in the opposite direction, moving away from him towards the exit. Harvey was curious, though, about why Mike had stopped in here, of all places. There were plenty of bars closer to work, and any of them could have poured a perfectly acceptable vodka tonic, probably for much less than the Plaza charged.

"Mike," he heard come out of his mouth, not loud, but carrying enough that Mike turned, searching the shadowy corner for the source of the summons. Harvey saw the precise moment when Mike spotted him, and felt stupidly pleased by the sudden smile that lit up Mike's glum features.

"Hey," said Mike, as he came over to stand by Harvey's table. "What are you doing here? Meeting someone?"

Harvey knew him well enough by now to detect the faint whiff of melancholy in his voice.

"Nah. Just observing my usual holiday tradition."

"Drinking alone?" Mike's held tilted to one side, as he seemingly tried to figure out the puzzle that was his boss.

"Yes, actually," said Harvey. "Would you like to join me?" He wasn’t certain why he’d made the offer, and chose not to examine his motives too closely at the moment.

Mike's eyes narrowed. "But then you wouldn't be alone."

"Sit down," he ordered, but with a half-smile. "Unless you have somewhere you need to be?"

Mike hesitated before taking the seat across from Harvey. "Need to? No. I'm just observing _my_ usual Christmas tradition."

"Drinking alone? At the Plaza?" Harvey signaled the waitress and ordered another round for them.

Mike waited until after she left before answering. He stared down at the tabletop, mouth twisting, as if trying to decide whether or not to share with Harvey. "It's … a thing. It started with Grammy, the Christmas after my parents died."

"Your grandmother took you drinking when you were ten? How progressive of her."

"Ha ha. No. Not drinking. You see, she never had the time or the money to go all out on decorations, and a tree, and all that, like my folks did. I might have made a snotty remark or two alluding to the lack thereof."

"That sounds like you."

"And again, ha ha. Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"I'm riveted. Please continue." It came out heavy with sarcasm, but Harvey actually was curious to hear about Mike's little tradition.

The waitress arrived with their drinks, and Mike downed perhaps a third of his in one swift gulp.

"Okay, so after I, er, shit all over her or whatever, on Christmas Eve she bundled us both up and brought me downtown. Never mind that she'd been working overtime all week, and had a rare afternoon off. She wouldn't tell me where we were going, and I was almost expecting her to drop me off at an orphanage or something -- if such a thing even existed -- and have done with me. But, no, she brought me here. We walked around the lobby, looking at all the decorations. That year, they had these antique teddy bears dressed in little outfits. Under locked glass, of course, but still pretty neat."

He took a quick look at Harvey, as if to gauge his reaction. "After we were done here, we moved on to the Ritz, and then the Chilton, and a couple of other fancy hotels. One place had these amazing gingerbread houses. Shit, you couldn't even call them houses. They were mansions, with three car garages, and tennis courts and gardens and topiaries, all made out of different kinds of candy. Architectural firms designed them, and the hotel auctioned them off for charity.

"We ended up at the Waldorf-Astoria. They had a group of carolers walking around the lobby, dressed in Victorian outfits. Grammy bought us hot chocolate and a plate of these little cakes that were the best thing I'd ever tasted. She probably spent a day's pay just to give me that." He'd been staring at the tabletop, running his finger through a tiny puddle of melted ice. His gaze shifted to Harvey, blue eyes shining with remembrance. "After that, every year we did the same thing, until she got sick, and went into the nursing home."

"And then you went by yourself?" Harvey tried to ignore the pang of something suspiciously like pity in his chest.

"I would have, but Trevor invited himself along. The first year, I was nineteen, and we both had fake ID's. He had some bright idea that hotel bars were a great place to troll for hookups."

Harvey gave a soft snort of laughter. "He wasn't wrong."

Mike's mouth curved upwards in a slow, uncertain smile. "Oh. So that's why you're here?"

"No. Not today. That's not to say I would be averse to the idea. So, were you successful? Did you manage to snare some unsuspecting business woman from out of town on your yearly bar hop?"

Mike stared at the table top again. "Ah. Trevor did, yeah."

"Not you?"

Harvey’s first impulse was to laugh, to mock Mike for his lack of game, but something in his closed off expression stopped him.

Mike was blushing, lips pressed together. "I, uh, to be honest I tended to attract a different type."

"Long Island ladies doing lunch? Hotel hookers? Maid on a break?"

"Try closeted executives in fancy suits from Topeka, looking for a boy toy to take out their frustrations on."

Harvey froze for a second in surprise. "And did they find one?" He knew it was none of his business, but he was curious. Before Mike could answer, something else occurred to him. "Is that why you're here today?"

Mike gave a forced sounding laugh. "No. Not specifically." He finished his drink and waved at the waitress, holding up two fingers to signal another round. "Things do have a funny way of working out, though." He licked his lips and looked everywhere but at Harvey.

Harvey ran a half dozen possible replies to that through his mind, and finally settled on, "I'm not from Topeka."

"No. And I'm not a nineteen-year-old kid anymore."

They were both quiet for a few minutes after that, as the implications of their by-play hung in the air like fat clouds stuffed with snow, waiting to fall. Their drinks came. Mike guzzled, and Harvey sipped thoughtfully.

"Stay here," Harvey finally said. "Finish your drink. And keep your phone out."

He tossed back the rest of his scotch, closing his eyes briefly as sharp, smoky heat filled his insides. He stood up and walked out of the bar, fifty percent certain that he was making a huge mistake.

 

******

 

Mike watched Harvey go. He slumped in his seat and set one palm against his forehead. What had just happened? He'd just come out to his boss. Said boss had signaled an interest in him. And now he had gone to … what?

He took quick sips of his drink, assessing his feelings. Nervous. Excited. Terrified. Turned on. Terrified again.

But intrigued.

He was just considering the wisdom of ordering another drink when his phone announced the arrival of a text message.

_Room 510. Ten minutes. No show? No harm, no foul._

Mike had to laugh at this poetically terse invitation to disaster. Because that is what it had to be: a disaster in the making.

Lonely sex? Check.

Drunk sex? Check, check.

Sex with your boss? Check, check, check.

God, he wanted this, though. He'd wanted that man's hands on him since the first instant he'd seen him. Wanted his dirty, arrogant tongue adhered to any of a number of bodily orifices, or using it to speak his demands and insults and filthy instructions.

Mike pressed his cold, ice-sweated glass to his forehead and forced himself to breathe steadily, and to attempt to think rationally.

_Harvey is your boss. Harvey is your boss._

It didn't help. In fact, it only made him lighter of head, considering the possibilities. The minutes were ticking down. Ten minutes became eight minutes, which became six, and all too quickly, five, and he needed _do something._ He stood up, not certain yet where his steps would lead him, and realized that the drinks needed to be paid for. At his upraised hand, the waitress approached to find him reaching for his wallet.

"The bill has been take care of," she assured him with a smile.

Harvey had handled it. _Like a boss._

Strangely, that's what decided Mike. He knew that Harvey could handle Mike the same way he'd handled the bar tab -- with discretion, and consideration, and effortless control.   He stood up and walked out of the bar, each step faster than the last, accelerating steadily until he was practically running toward the elevator.

 

******

 

Harvey was out of his jacket and tie, down to his shirtsleeves, when Mike knocked on the door. He glanced at his watch. Nine and a half minutes. Leave it to the kid to cut it close. He took his own good time strolling to the door and easing it open. "Points for courage," he drawled, and let Mike inside.

"Did someone call room service looking for a boy toy?" Mike dropped his overcoat and suit jacket on a chair and put a hand to his throat to undo his tie.

"Wait," ordered Harvey. "Let me get comfortable for this."

He knew they were crossing a line here that either or both of them might regret tomorrow. He couldn't find it within himself to care at that moment, with Mike in his hotel room, right in front of him and ready to play, so he slid off pants and shirt, setting them on the dresser, and made himself comfortable on the bed in just his boxer briefs and socks, back against the headboard and legs splayed open.

"Okay. Continue. Strip." He almost laughed at the comical look of annoyance on Mike's face at the enforced delay.

Then Mike began shedding clothes, and Harvey didn't feel like laughing anymore. Harvey had seen pros with less finesse than Mike. The best part was the way he maintained eye contact with Harvey as he undid his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt, and unfastened his belt and pants.

Harvey palmed himself, running the heel of his hand up and down his growing erection. "Maybe I should have you dance for me," he said breathlessly, meaning it as a joke.

Mike's eyes lit up, though, and he grabbed up the remote from the dresser and turned on the television, flipping through channels until he found the music stations, and selected one playing slow, sultry jazz. His hips started a sinuous roll as he dragged his belt from the loops of his trousers. Keeping hold of the belt, he slid his pants down his legs and kicked them away, achieving an impressive loft and distance. He whipped the belt on the ground a few times for effect, before running it slowly up his leg and over the bulge in his white briefs.

Harvey had his hand inside his own underwear by then, stroking leisurely as he watched Mike's show. He was imagining him in a club somewhere, dancing in front of a room full of interested spectators, but only for one person – Harvey. "My god," he murmured, voice strained, "you're really fucking good at that."

Mike turned his back to him then, hips jerking while he did a series of squats, up and down, popping his ass out on each upswing. Harvey was about ready to order him to _get the hell over here,_ when Mike turned back around. Harvey's mouth went dry.

Mike had wrapped the belt around and around his wrists, which were now bound in front of him. He kept his eyes lowered as he shimmied closer and closer to the bed, hips working like and oiled snake. A step away, he paused, lifting his face to show Harvey the vulnerability in his eyes. One thumb hooked in the waistband of his briefs, preparing to pull them down and off.

"Stop," Harvey ordered. "Don't move." He got off the bed and went to stand behind Mike, arms encircling him. One hand brushed up over the front of his briefs, feeling his hard, hot length, and the patch of spreading dampness on the soft cotton. "I never would have guessed," he breathed in Mike's ear, hand opening and closing over him a few times, "what a dirty boy you are." He ground himself against Mike's bottom, letting him feel how much he wanted him, and worked the belt free from his wrists.

Mike moaned, and then whined in disappointment, only to immediately suck in his breath as Harvey yanked one arm, and then the other, behind his back and wound the belt back around his wrists.

"That's better, isn't it?" whispered Harvey.

"Yeah." Spoken as if in a daze.

Harvey pulled his bound wrists up, just enough to put a slight strain on Mike's shoulders. Mike let out a breathless grunt, which transformed into a long, low, filthy moan. His body collapsed back against Harvey.

With his arms wrapped around Mike's middle, Harvey mouthed his neck and shoulder. "Now that I've got you, what should I do with you?" he mused.

"A-anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Consider me an early Christmas present."

Harvey liked the sound of that. "Then let's finish unwrapping you." He tugged at Mike's briefs, lowering them past his cock, which sprang prettily up to attention. Dragging the briefs down, he left them tangled around Mike's ankles.

With a hand on Mike's elbow, he walked him closer to the bed and ordered him to kneel, which he did, artless and clumsy and so goddamn beautiful. Then Harvey whisked off his own boxer briefs and took a seat on the edge of the bed, knees apart.

"Think you can get me off with just your mouth?"

Mike nodded up at him, chest heaving, and looking ridiculously turned on. He chased Harvey's waving cock head for a couple of seconds, as if he was bobbing for apples, and finally corralled it with some strong tongue action. He held the head in his mouth and licked delicately, stabbing the tip of his tongue into the slit, before using the flat to moisten everything he could reach. This was followed with shallow head bobs, simple, rhythmic suction, and copious amounts of saliva, which tricked out the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

Just the sound of it, the hungry smacking and slurping, had Harvey gritting his teeth to hold back a groan. His harsh breathing created a counterpoint to Mike's guttural, needy sounds. He threaded his fingers through Mike's hair, wanting to pull so hard that Mike's eyes watered, and wanting to cradle his skull and press tender kisses to his forehead and eyebrows and nose.

He heard Mike take a quick breath, just before he swallowed Harvey to the root. Even forewarned, Harvey shouted in surprise, surging up off the bed. Mike started to choke, and Harvey eased back down, stroking the tops of his ears and the back of his neck. He shut his eyes at the incredible feel of Mike's throat closing around him, and his tongue dragging wetly up and down the underside.

"Oh," he said. "Oh, yeah. That's good. That's perfect." He held onto Mike's shoulders now, letting his thumbs come up to feel the movements of his throat. "I'm close, baby."

Mike lifted up slightly, using his tongue to target the sensitive spot just below the head of Harvey's cock. Harvey could feel his orgasm approaching and tensed, head falling back. Mike dove back down, throat squeezing around him, and Harvey's spine melted.

"Yes!" he shouted, standing and giving in to the need to fuck in and out of Mike's mouth and throat, grabbing onto his hair and losing himself in selfish sensation, battering his throat without mercy. His aftershocks had begun to subside when he caught sight of Mike's face, eyes wide and blue and hazy, leaking at the corners, mouth still stretched wide around Harvey, also leaking at the corners, and he nearly orgasmed a second time, hips thrusting and stuttering beyond his control.

When the storm had finally passed, he pulled out of Mike's mouth, sat back onto the bed, breathing hard, and pressed Mike's head to his thigh, bending over him to kiss the top of his head.

"My god, Mike. That was incredible." He tipped Mike’s head up and went in for his mouth, tasting himself there. He indulged in a long, wet, filthy kiss before pulling away with regret. "Okay, let's get cleaned up and get dressed." He reached behind Mike, intent on removing the belt.

Mike gave an uncertain laugh. "Um, aren't we forgetting something?" He looked pointedly down at his own erection.

"Oh, that? No, let's save that. We have three more hotels to hit up, after all."

"What? Are you kidding me?"

"No. There's a Christmas tradition that needs to be upheld. Next, the Ritz. Their thread count is spectacular. And I happen to know that the headboards at the Chilton are perfect for tying up dirty little boy toys."

"Oh my god," Mike moaned, although he was grinning hugely. "You do know what a room costs at those places, right?"

"Obviously. And for the record, totally worth it. I'll tell you what, if you can stay on Santa's naughty list like you did here, I may even let you come at the Waldorf-Astoria." He got the belt off of Mike and tossed it on the bed next to him.

Mike laughed, rubbing his wrists and struggling to his feet. "Yeah? And what special amenities do they have?"

"Superior room service. I hear their breakfasts are incredible." He waited a few seconds, eyeing Mike. "So what do you say? A new twist to an old tradition? Are you in?"

"All the way in. We've only just scratched the surface of naughty."

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
